


If You Were the Last Man on Earth, Book Two: Spring

by Seraphtrevs



Series: If You Were the Last Man on Earth [2]
Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: 10000-30000 words, Alternate Universe, Apocalypse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-25
Updated: 2010-03-25
Packaged: 2017-10-08 07:43:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seraphtrevs/pseuds/Seraphtrevs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a year and a half since the Shanti virus dropped and devastated the planet. After refusing to conduct inhumane experiments in the search for a cure, Mohinder is made into an unwilling test subject by his former colleagues. When Mohinder thinks that things can't get any worse, he is unexpectedly rescued by Sylar, who has plans that include world domination, ultimate power, and domestic bliss. Mohinder isn't sure he's better off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Better Homes and Gardens and a Happy New Year

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks to my beta, marenpaisley, an all-around awesome person and my favorite cheerleader (sorry Claire).
> 
> This is Book Two of a three book series.

"I want to start a garden," Mohinder said.

"What?" Sylar said. It was the first time Mohinder had spoken to him in days.

They were sitting together in the living room, reading in front of the fireplace. After their last 'disagreement,' Sylar had tactfully left Mohinder to himself for the most part, surmising (correctly) that Mohinder had been pushed to the breaking point and needed time to cool down. However, Sylar still annoyingly insisted on sitting with him in the evenings. Mohinder refused to be chased away, since the fireplace made it the warmest room in the house and he still felt cold almost all the time, especially after sunset.

"I said I want to start a garden."

Sylar put his book down. "We've already got a garden, remember?"

"No, not a vegetable garden – a flower garden, here, in the backyard." The idea had been kicking around in Mohinder's head for a couple of days.

Sylar looked confused. "Why?"

"Because I need something to do with myself," Mohinder said. "If I don't keep myself occupied, I'm going to go mad. Again."

"Oh," Sylar said. He thought about it for a moment. "Sure, I don't see why not."

Mohinder didn't know the first thing about gardening, especially in North America, so he sent Sylar out to find him some books on the subject. He spent the next week or so reading and making notes, and when he decided exactly what he wanted, he and Sylar went to the WalMart down the road and raided the gardening section. There were plenty of tools and equipment, as well as bags of mulch and fertilizer. The plants were all dead, but there was a wide variety of seeds in packages that Mohinder thought were probably still viable.

Sylar helped Mohinder turn the basement into a mini-nursery; they set up several tables under fluorescent lighting to grow seedlings while they waited for the ground to thaw. Sylar suggested that they use the greenhouse where he grew their vegetables, but Mohinder nixed the idea. The greenhouse was already over-crowded, and it would be easier to transplant the seedlings if they were close to the house.

Mohinder found that he had a real knack for it. It was almost like conducting experiments – he had to carefully label and take meticulous notes on all of his seedlings and pay careful attention to how much light and water each variety of flower needed and how fast they grew.

A few weeks later, the ground thawed, and he was able to start moving some of his seedlings outdoors and sow some of the hardier seeds. Mohinder was a tropical creature – he wasn't sure he'd ever get used to this sort of weather. He was used to damp, but not damp and _cold_. Still, it felt good to be outside with his hands in the dirt and the sun on his face. Mohinder got a surprising amount of satisfaction from taking care of his garden. He had some failures, but for the most part, everything was coming together nicely.

He was frustrated, though, by how frail he still was. It had been about four months since Sylar had "liberated" him, and while he had some good days, for the most part, he was still next to helpless. He could work in the garden for about an hour; after that, he became dizzy and was sometimes overcome with tremors. Although he no longer looked dangerously skeletal, he was still underweight, and he often felt so nauseated that it was difficult for him to eat. He had headaches that never quite went away; the pain would reach a certain height and then recede for a while, only to return a few hours later.

And then there were the nightmares. He couldn't remember what they were about, but he would wake up with feelings of unnamable terror and claustrophobic isolation that threatened to suck him under like tar. He reluctantly conceded that having Sylar in the bedroom with him wasn't an entirely bad idea. Sylar's presence should have made the fear worse, but in the dark, he was just a warm body with a soothing voice.

Mohinder found himself thinking a lot about fear. The thing about fear – the real deep-down, gut-wrenching, heart-stopping kind – was that it couldn't keep its hold on you for too long. It could linger around the corners of your consciousness, and it could turn your dreams to nightmares, but when something terrible failed to happen, it ebbed away.

Which is why he found himself relaxing into his life with Sylar. He'd given up trying to guard against complacency; he simply didn't have the energy for it. It was next to impossible to live in fear of a man who did nothing more menacing than scold him when he didn't finish his dinner, and it wasn't very productive. He decided instead to focus on getting well, and he could worry about everything else later.

Life was fairly peaceful for awhile. Mohinder gardened and read and rested. Sylar began to leave Mohinder alone more and more often, although he was never gone long enough for Mohinder to be able to do anything significantly subversive. He asked Sylar where he was going and what he was doing, but Sylar would only smile and said it was going to be a surprise. Mohinder was curious, but at the same time, it got Sylar out of his hair, so he was more inclined to just let the issue drop. They didn't talk very much; when they did, it was mostly harmless chit-chat about the garden or things they were reading.

But then around the time that Mohinder's garden began to thrive, Sylar started to put The Moves on him. One day Mohinder was out in the garden, weeding, when Sylar stuck his head out the door.

"I just want you to know that I appreciate you as a person," he said.

"…what?" Mohinder said, but by then he was gone.

That was only the beginning. They began taking walks now that it was warmer, supposedly to help Mohinder regain his strength. However, Mohinder soon surmised that they were actually taking Long Walks In the Countryside when Sylar attempted to hold his hand one day. Mohinder had slapped his hand away and they finished the walk in silence.

Mohinder wasn't quite sure what to do. Sylar's advances were very prim; apparently, he was determined not to have a repeat of the incident in the parking lot at the rest stop. At first, Mohinder just tried to ignore it. But Sylar interpreted Mohinder's refusal to respond as obliviousness and pushed his suit harder. He played footsie with him during dinner. He made him breakfast in bed. He left him little notes around the house wishing him a nice day.

It was driving Mohinder crazy.

One day in mid-April, Sylar suggested that Mohinder take their afternoon walk alone. It surprised him; Sylar was usually very nervous about Mohinder going anywhere on his own. Despite Sylar's increasingly frequent absences, Mohinder had for some reason been reluctant to use that time to explore the town and surrounding areas. He supposed it was because he was nervous about having an attack far from the house while Sylar was away.

Right now, though, he felt fairly strong, and Sylar was waiting for him back at the house and could get to him if he needed it. He took his time, straying from their usual paths. He had never really appreciated nature in his life before all this; he was always busy with research, and he preferred cities to the countryside anyway. But now that he had none of the distractions that had occupied his time, he was finding that he really enjoyed taking in the scenery.

He walked until he reached the point where they usually turned back, right in front of the beginnings of a forest. He had no idea how big it was, or what could be found there. He wondered what would happen if he kept going. How far would he get before Sylar came to bring him back? After a moment's hesitation, he turned around and headed back the way he came. Now was not the time to go exploring.

By the time he made it back to the house, a little over an hour had passed. He opened the door and was immediately overcome with a myriad of mouth-watering smells. Slightly puzzled, he made his way to the dining room.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness – all the curtains had been drawn and the only light came from a few candles set throughout the room. When they did, he saw that there was an incredible spread of Indian dishes on the table. There were dishes of various vegetable curries; a large bowl of sticky, steaming rice; a plateful of flat, round roti bread; three different chutneys in small silver bowls; and a dish of delicious-looking yellow daal. Piano music played lightly from a small stereo in the corner of the room.

At that moment, Sylar entered from the kitchen with a platter of samosas. "_Puthandu Vazthukal,_" he said.

Mohinder stared at him stupidly. "What?"

"April 14th – it's Tamil New Year, right?" he said. He pulled out a chair. "Why don't you have a seat?"

A date. This was a _date_.

Mohinder's first reaction was to retreat. He spun around and headed back out the door, but Sylar intercepted him.

"Hey, where are you going?" he said. "Aren't you hungry?"

"No," he said, but just then his stomach growled.

"Come on," Sylar said. "Try a samosa."

Mohinder hesitantly took one and bit into it; it was so good that he almost moaned. It irritated him to no end – if the food was this good, he didn't think he could walk away from it.

"Well?" Sylar asked. "How'd I do?"

"It's delicious," he snapped. Sylar grinned.

Mohinder reluctantly sat down while Sylar produced two wine glasses and a bottle. "Would you like some wine?"

Mohinder stared helplessly at the table. It was covered in flower petals, and the napkins had been folded to look like swans. "Why are you doing this?" he asked. "What do you want from me?"

Sylar looked thoughtful as he poured the wine. "I want you to be happy, Mohinder."

"You know I can't be happy here," Mohinder said.

"Why not?"

Mohinder stared at him. "Do you _really_ need me to remind you?"

Sylar sat down beside him. "Look," he said. "I know that things probably haven't worked out the way you imagined they would." He ignored Mohinder's snort of derision. "But here you are, and all things considered, you could be a lot worse off."

"Is that a threat?"

"No, it's not a threat," Sylar said with exasperation. "For Christ's sake, Mohinder, would it kill you to enjoy a nice dinner?"

Mohinder crossed his arms over his chest and said nothing.

Sylar sighed. "Do you really hate me so much that you're willing to make yourself miserable for the rest of your life just to spite me? What good is that going to do?" Sylar picked up one of the glasses of wine and held it out to Mohinder. "One night," he said. "Just enjoy yourself for one night – where's the harm in that? You can go back to pouting and scowling tomorrow."

"I do not _pout_," Mohinder sniffed. He looked at the glass of wine in front of him, then back at Sylar, who was wearing an expression that would have been endearing if it had been anybody else. Mohinder sighed and accepted the glass.

Mohinder was surprised at how hungry he was. A lot of it probably had to do with the food; Sylar was an incredibly good cook when he wanted to be. He was incredibly good at anything if he wanted to be, Mohinder thought sourly.

He was on his second helping and had just finished his second glass of wine when he noticed that Sylar was staring at him.

"What?" he said around a mouthful of rice.

"I like watching you eat."

Mohinder nearly spit out his food. "That is really creepy, Sylar."

"Why? I'm just being honest." He floated the wine bottle over to Mohinder. "More wine?"

Mohinder held out his glass and didn't pull it away until it was filled to the brim. "You know, normal people have conversations over dinner."

"All right," Sylar said. "What do you want to talk about?"

That stumped him. In spite of everything that had happened between them, and in spite of the fact that they had been living together for four months, Mohinder realized he didn't know very much about Sylar. He and "Zane" had actually had more in-depth conversations about themselves. Mohinder wondered how much of his impersonation of Zane was lies or if it had any truth to it at all.

He thought back to the conversation they had a few weeks ago when Mohinder had asked him to help build a lab. "You seem interested in watches - is it a hobby of yours?"

"I owned a watch repair shop, actually," Sylar said. "It was my father's business, and his father's before him."

"Oh." Mohinder hadn't really thought about what Sylar had done before he discovered his ability, but he never would have guessed that. Watch repair sounded so…well, harmless. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Yes," Sylar said. "Although I always knew I was destined for something greater. I've always loved timepieces, though. They're so complex in their mechanisms – every part has to be perfectly in tune with the others, but once everything is in place, it becomes…simple. It keeps the time." Sylar swirled his wine around and took a sip. "A well-made watch is more steady than a beating heart."

Mohinder looked down at his watch – or rather, Sylar's. He still wore it all the time; it was embarrassing how much comfort he took from it. "It's something you can always count on," Mohinder said, almost more to himself than to Sylar.

"Yes, exactly," Sylar said. Mohinder looked up and their gazes met for a long moment.

Mohinder broke eye contact and took a large gulp of wine. "So did you have any hobbies?"

"Yes. I repaired watches."

"…so you repaired watches for a living and as a hobby."

"Yes," Sylar said.

"I see." That was…weird, but somehow not surprising.

"So what did you do for fun?" Sylar asked.

Mohinder shrugged. "I used to play cricket – although I hadn't really played in years. Work took up too much of my time." He frowned. Maybe he didn't really have room to judge Sylar for his single-mindedness. He swallowed that thought with another large mouthful of wine.

"You're hitting that wine a little hard," Sylar commented. "You might want to slow down."

"And _you_ might want to shut up," Mohinder snapped back. "I can hold my liquor just fine." Although now that Sylar mentioned it, he was feeling a little dizzy. However, he wasn't about to let Sylar dictate how much wine he could have with dinner, so he took another large swig.

Sylar gave him a smile that was all teeth. "I just don't want you to think I'm trying to get you drunk."

Mohinder snorted.

The conversation petered out after that. Mohinder finished his wine and looked morosely at the bottom of the glass. A small amount of dark residue clung to the bottom. He suddenly felt ill. "I'm going upstairs," he said. He left the room before Sylar could say anything.

Mohinder stumbled his way up the stairs and weaved his way into the bedroom. He barely made it to the toilet before throwing up. After he was finished, went to the sink and washed his mouth out. He sank down to the floor and rested his head against the wall. God, he had become such a lightweight. His head was swimming, and he felt very odd. The whole _night_ had been very odd. This business of being "courted" by Sylar as if he were a blushing virgin absolutely had to stop. It was absurd. But how? It wasn't as if Sylar was ever going to let up, until –

A very dim lightbulb went off over Mohinder's head. He just had to sleep with him. That would solve everything.

A part of him was aware that this probably wasn't a decision he should be making while he was drunk, but then again, he didn't think he'd be able to go through with it sober anyway.

As if on cue, Sylar appeared in the doorway. "Are you feeling all right?" Sylar asked.

Mohinder crawled his way up the wall until he was standing. "No," he said, and then launched himself off the wall and into Sylar's arms.

Sylar was evidently not expecting that, so they both almost toppled over. Mohinder tried to kiss him, but missed his mouth on the first shot and ended up licking his chin. But once Sylar understood what was going on, he moaned loudly and captured Mohinder's mouth with his own.

He was a terrible kisser. At least at first. But after a few minutes of sloppy licking and teeth crashing, Sylar suddenly was kissing Mohinder exactly the way he loved to be kissed, gently moving his lips over Mohinder's with an occasional dip of his tongue into his mouth. Mohinder was aware that his mouth must taste terrible, which gave him an odd sense of satisfaction.

All of a sudden, Mohinder felt himself flying backward; he hit the bed with a bounce. Thirty seconds later, Sylar was in bed with him, naked and hard. He felt a twinge of panic – maybe this hadn't been such a great idea. He jumped when Sylar laid a hand on his waist and pulled him closer. He drew Mohinder into a long kiss, then pulled back and began to slowly unbutton Mohinder's shirt, kissing each inch of skin as it was revealed. Mohinder started to feel aroused in spite of himself.

Sylar finally reached the last button and pulled him to a sitting position so he could slip the shirt off. The room lurched around him; he grabbed onto Sylar's shoulders in an attempt to steady himself. Sylar started rubbing his hands up and down Mohinder's body. It was very clinical at first, and Sylar had his head cocked as if he were listening for something. After a few minutes, his touch turned into a caress. He massaged the back of Mohinder's neck briefly, and then moved his hands down his body, grazing his thumbs over his nipples along the way. He reached his waist and rubbed the sensitive areas just above his hip bones, and then he reached around to rub the small of his back before moving up again along his spine. He wrapped Mohinder in his arms and kissed him again.

_Intuitive aptitude,_ Mohinder thought. _He's using his ability to learn what I like._He felt a surge of arousal at the thought and let out a moan before he could stop himself.

"Yes," Sylar said against his lips. "Good, good…" He laid Mohinder on his back again and undid his fly, then coaxed him out of his trousers and underwear.

The alcohol pulsed through Mohinder's body. His thoughts swirled; he felt like they were mixing together like paint, with shades of fear and loathing and lust and longing combining into one muddy mess. Sleeping with Sylar had started as a plan, but he wasn't quite sure anymore what he'd hoped to accomplish. But _this_ he still understood, the slow slide of two bodies together, the smell and taste of sweat, the moans and wet sounds. A bottle of lubricant appeared in Sylar's hand – Mohinder wasn't quite sure when or how that had happened; things were moving so quickly. Sylar slicked his fingers and took Mohinder's cock in his hand, stroking it to full hardness. And when Sylar's hand dipped lower, Mohinder opened his legs reflexively.

"I want to fuck you," Sylar said.

Mohinder stared up at him. There wasn't much light in the room; shadows flickered over his face, and Mohinder couldn't read his expression. A moment of sobriety took hold, and a small wave of fear washed over him. He considered changing his mind: _Sorry, I've decided I don't want to do this, so why don't we shake hands and forget this ever happened?_ "Okay," he said instead. Oh well – no going back now.

Sylar slid a finger inside him. "Is that – is that okay?" Sylar asked. For the first time, he sounded unsure.

"Yes, it's fine," Mohinder said. He threw an arm over his eyes and let the sensations roll over him.

Sylar moved his finger in small circles, then after a minute, added a second one. Mohinder spread his legs wider and tilted his hips until Sylar's fingers brushed against his prostate. He moaned loudly.

"Oh God," Sylar said. "_Mohinder._" Sylar removed his fingers. He moved over Mohinder, laying kisses on his stomach, his collar bone, his shoulder, his neck, until finally he reached his mouth. They kissed one another again until they were both panting, and after some wrestling and re-positioning, Mohinder ended up on his elbows and knees.

"Are you ready?" Sylar asked.

"Yes – now, please, now!" He knew he would hate himself in the morning for begging, but right now he didn't care about anything other than finding release.

Mohinder heard some wet sounds as Sylar coated himself with more lube, and then, finally, he felt the head of his cock push against him. Sylar slid completely inside him with one long thrust.

"OH!" Sylar gasped. He grabbed onto Mohinder's hips, holding him still. "Don't. Move."

Mohinder wasn't planning to. It had been a long time since he'd done this, and it _hurt_. He breathed in through his nose and exhaled slowly.

After a minute, the burn subsided, and he let out a small sigh. He rocked his hips backward, and Sylar moaned and started to move slowly, shifting until he found the perfect angle. Mohinder keened and rested his head on his folded arms. He let himself drown in the pleasure as Sylar plunged in and out of him. For a few moments, there was nothing but this – no animosity, no manipulations, no fear – just bodies moving desperately against each other.

Sylar reached around and began stroking Mohinder's cock in time with his thrusts, but it was too agonizingly slow. With a sigh of frustration, Mohinder dug his elbows into the bed and pushed back against him. Sylar gasped and let Mohinder set the pace while he continued to stroke him, and then with an undignified scream Mohinder came, spilling over Sylar's hand and the mattress.

Sylar slung an arm around Mohinder's waist to prevent him from collapsing and fucked him with quick, frantic strokes. A few minutes later, he pushed in as far as he could and came, his hips jerking desperately as he emptied himself into Mohinder's body.

Sylar collapsed next to Mohinder, and they lay there panting for a few minutes. Mohinder turned his head to look at Sylar, who grinned at him like someone who had just won an argument.

Mohinder wanted to slap the smug expression off of his face. Instead, he got up and went into the bathroom. He went to the sink and splashed his face with water. He looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was a mess, his face glowed with sweat, and his lips were swollen – in short, he looked very well-fucked. He thought he should be feeling something right about now, but he was too tired to think about it.

When he emerged from the bathroom, Sylar was stretched out like a cat on the bed, breathing evenly and deeply. Mohinder climbed back into bed, hoping Sylar was asleep, but the minute his head hit the pillow, Sylar curled up behind him.

"Mmmm. Was it good for you?" Sylar said in his ear.

"Shut up," Mohinder said. Sylar just laughed and pulled him closer. Mohinder thought about protesting, but what would be the point? Instead, he closed his eyes, and soon, he was asleep.


	2. The Morning After, or A Prophecy Fulfilled

Mohinder woke up with an enormous headache. The sun was shining through the window directly onto his face. He grabbed his watch from the nightstand to check the time – it was 9:02 am, which was later than he usually let himself sleep. However, he was not ready to deal with last night just yet, so he got up and closed the curtains, then crawled back into bed and attempted to go back to sleep. At least Sylar was apparently already up and around.

But a minute later, he felt a gentle nudge against his shoulder. He tried to ignore it, but the nudge became more persistent. Sighing, he sat up. An invisible force propped a pillow up behind him while a tray floated through the door and onto his lap. On the tray was a plate of fried eggs, a few heart-shaped pieces of toast, and a pitcher filled with ice-cold water and a glass.

"Show off," he mumbled under his breath.

When he finished eating, he set the tray on the nightstand and got out of bed. His teeth chattered as he walked to the dresser to get some clothes, but as he reached for the drawer, he felt a tug on his hand. He tried to shake it off, but the tug just got stronger. "Okay, okay," he said. "Where do you want me to go?" He stumbled forward as the tug led him to the bathroom.

The claw-footed bathtub was filled with hot, lilac-scented water. He was gently pushed towards it. He grumbled, but actually, a hot bath did sound nice. Even though it was spring, the mornings were still way too cold for Mohinder's taste.

He slid into the tub with a sigh. The water felt incredibly good, especially since he felt more than a little sore. He held his breath and dunked his head under the water to get his hair wet, then leaned his head back against the tub and closed his eyes.

"Careful, doctor – you don't want to drift off and accidentally drown yourself."

Mohinder startled violently. Sylar was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He was dressed in black jeans and a dirty tee shirt – he must have been out to the barn earlier. "Jesus, Sylar – you scared me."

"Sorry," Sylar said. His grin didn't look particularly repentant.

"Where were you when I woke up?" he asked. He was curious about the range of Sylar's powers.

"I was in the kitchen making breakfast when I heard you get up, so I sent up a tray. Did you like it?"

"It was fine," Mohinder said.

Sylar walked over to the tub and knelt down beside it. "How are you feeling this morning?" he asked. He started to trail his hand through the water, but Mohinder smacked it out.

"I have a headache."

Sylar glanced over at the bedroom, and a moment later, a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin floated through the door. "Here you go," he said.

Mohinder glared at him, but he did take the aspirin.

"You know, I'm a little dirty from doing my chores at the barn," Sylar said. "Mind if I join you?"

"Would it matter if I said no?" Mohinder asked, but Sylar was already pulling off his clothes.

Sylar scooted Mohinder forward a bit so he could slip in behind him. "Mmmm. This feels nice."

"I meant it when I said I had a headache," Mohinder warned.

"Noted. Here, let me scrub your back."

Sylar rubbed Mohinder down with a wash cloth, keeping his hands chastely above the waist but lingering more than was strictly necessary. "You are so tense," Sylar said when he got to his shoulders.

"I can't imagine why." The sarcasm of the comment was lost when he moaned as Sylar started massaging him. Damn, he was good at this. It was impossible for his muscles to stay tense under Sylar's hands.

Sylar continued to massage him until Mohinder felt like every bone in his body had turned to jelly. Sylar slid his arms around Mohinder's chest and pulled him back to lean against him. He kissed the nape of Mohinder's neck. "I really enjoyed last night," he murmured in Mohinder's ear.

Mohinder didn't reply. He felt like he'd opened a door last night, and he'd stupidly walked through it without realizing that it would shut and lock behind him, and now he was even more trapped than before. By having sex with him, Mohinder got rid of Sylar, the patient suitor, but now he had to deal with Sylar, the affectionate lover.

Mohinder stood up and stepped out of the tub. He wanted to get dressed and go work in the garden, but Sylar obviously had other plans, so he might as well get it over with. He'd made his bed, and now he was going to have to lie in it. So to speak.

"Where are you going?" Sylar asked. "We don't have to do anything – I just wanted to sit and relax with you."

"I'm feeling waterlogged," he said. "I'm going back to the bedroom." He walked to the door, not bothering to dry himself off. When he reached the doorway, he looked back over his shoulder. "Well? Are you coming?" Sylar jumped out of the tub with comical speed.

They were both still soaking wet when they hit the bed. Mohinder's skin was covered in goosebumps from the chill, but Sylar's body was hot. Mohinder wrapped his body around Sylar as they kissed until he felt warm again. He then untangled himself and gave Sylar a rough shove, pushing him onto his back.

"Whoa," Sylar said. "Feeling bossy this morning?"

Mohinder ignored him. He slithered down until he was level with Sylar's cock. He hadn't gotten a good look at him last night, but now, in the defused sunlight filtering through the curtains, he had the opportunity to study him. His cock was long, but not unusually so; the girth was also about average. He was circumcised (unsurprisingly, since he was American). The only slightly unusual thing about it was that it leaned a little to the left.

Mohinder swiped his tongue over the head, then held the base steady with his fist and took it in his mouth. He flattened his tongue and pressed it against the sensitive underside and gave it a few licks; Sylar screamed. Loudly.

Mohinder pulled back and looked up at him. He knew he was pretty good at this, but he wasn't _that_ good. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yes," Sylar gasped. "I'm fine – yes – oh God, do that again!"

Mohinder mentally shrugged and took Sylar's cock in his mouth again, twisting his head as he made his way down the length and then up again; he gave the tip a brief suck, and then repeated the motion.

Sylar couldn't stay still; he writhed under Mohinder's touch. He buried his hands in Mohinder's hair and thrust upward.

Mohinder reared back. "For God's sake, Sylar, stop pulling my hair," he said irritably. "And keep your hips still – are you trying to gag me?"

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean – sorry."

Sylar kept his hands firmly by his sides as Mohinder went down again, but after a few minutes, one had crept over and began to stroke Mohinder's cheek. "So good," he said. "You are so beaut –"

Mohinder pulled back for a third time. "If you call me beautiful, I'm putting my clothes on and leaving," he snapped. "Now hands down, hips still, and mouth shut, or you can finish yourself off." Sylar opened his mouth to say something, then wisely shut it. He nodded.

"All right, then." Mohinder pumped Sylar's cock with his fist for a few strokes, then put his mouth over the head and sucked until Sylar started to moan again. Sylar twisted the sheets in his fists and threw his head back and forth as he got closer and closer to climax. Mohinder started to bob his head quickly; he used his free hand to fondle Sylar's balls.

"Mohinder," he moaned desperately. "Wait – I'm going to – " and then he pulled out of Mohinder's mouth. But since Mohinder still had a hold of his cock, and it was pointing at his face, the first two shots hit him - one on his cheek, and another in his hair. Mohinder let him go with a yelp, and Sylar finished all over his own stomach.

"Bloody hell, Sylar!" He took a corner of the sheet and tried to wipe it out of his hair.

"Sorry," Sylar said, still panting. "I didn't know if you wanted me to – in your mouth." He winced. "Sorry," he said again.

_You'd think it was the first time he'd ever had his dick sucked,_ Mohinder thought, and then paused. Well. That was certainly an interesting thing to know. He wondered what sexual experiences Sylar had previous to this. Mohinder had assumed that Sylar slept with Maya, but he'd never asked her outright. He'd seemed to know what he was doing last night, but then again, that knowledge could have been purely academic.

Mohinder brought the sheet up to wipe off his cheek, but Sylar reached out and stopped him. "Wait," he said. He sat up and pulled Mohinder close to him, then licked the come off of his face.

It should have been disgusting, but Mohinder's cock, which had only been half interested in the proceedings, suddenly jumped to life. "Oh," he exhaled in surprise.

Sylar smiled and leaned in to kiss him, and Mohinder found himself kissing back. It was morning, he was sober, and yet here he was, kissing Sylar as if they were nothing more than lovers, as if there weren't a dark, bloody history between them, and a part of him didn't care.

Sylar broke the kiss and leaned Mohinder back gently. He kissed Mohinder's neck, briefly swirling his tongue around his earlobe, then moved down and kissed his chest, directly above his rapidly beating heart. "I know you don't want me to say it," he said softly. "But you _are_ beautiful, Mohinder. I've waited so long for you – "

"Don't," Mohinder said. "Please. Just – don't."

"All right," he said. He kissed his chest again. "I won't."

Sylar made his way down Mohinder's body until he reached his cock. He kissed the tip reverently, and then took the whole thing in his mouth.

He was sloppy at first, but, like before, he quickly picked up what Mohinder liked and what he didn't. The pleasure hit Mohinder in rolling waves – he felt like he needed to hold on to something to avoid being washed away, but there was nothing but Sylar, over him and around him, so he closed his eyes and let go, and then he was coming, thick and hot in Sylar's mouth.

Mohinder lay on his back, staring at the ceiling and trying to catch his breath. Sylar scooted up beside him and kissed Mohinder's slack mouth. Mohinder's mind stayed pleasantly numb in the afterglow, but after a few minutes, it began to fade and his thoughts returned to their normal state of bitterness, confusion and now guilt. "Am I allowed to talk now?" Sylar asked eventually.

"No," Mohinder said. "I have to wash my hair." He walked to the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him.

The bathtub water was still warm; Mohinder got in and vigorously scrubbed himself all over, taking extra care with his hair. He got out and toweled himself down. After he was dry, he said a little prayer to whatever god might be listening asking that Sylar be gone when he opened the door.

And he was. Mohinder sighed with relief. He went over to the dresser to get some clothes, but when he opened the top drawer, he found a small canvas. It was a painting of Sylar and himself wrapped around one another on a bed – the same bed they had just used. They were both dripping wet – soap bubbles clung to Mohinder's hair. If they had been real, he bet that they would have smelled like lilac.

He hurled the painting across the room and then turned around and hit the wall with his fists. Wordless sounds of anger tore through his throat as he pounded the wall until his hands were sore. After the surge of anger subsided, he rested his head against the wall and took several deep breaths until he calmed down.

He got dressed and went downstairs. Sylar was nowhere to be found, which was fine by him. He worked in the garden the rest of the day, pulling weeds and killing pests. Sylar came home around nightfall; aside from a few words, they didn't really talk. Mohinder went to bed early but had trouble falling asleep. When Sylar came in after him an hour or so later, Mohinder closed his eyes and breathed evenly, hoping Sylar would think that he had already drifted off.

Sylar wasn't fooled, though. He sat down on the bed beside Mohinder. "I didn't mean to upset you," he said quietly.

Mohinder rolled over and opened his eyes. "What the hell did you think my reaction was going to be?"

Sylar shrugged. "I thought maybe if you saw that I was right and this is meant to be, you'd be more –"

"What? Resigned to my fate?" Mohinder rolled back over, turning his back to him.

Sylar got up and went over to his side of the bed. He got in and lay down facing Mohinder. "I thought you'd see that the future holds good things for us," he murmured.

Mohinder said nothing.

"May I kiss you good night?" Sylar asked.

Mohinder sighed. "_Fine._"

Sylar scooted closer and kissed him very chastely on the lips. It wasn't terrible.

"Good night," he said quietly.

Mohinder shut his eyes. "Good night."

He fell asleep soon afterwards. He mercifully had no dreams that night.

 

******

 

After that, they started to go at it like rabbits. Mohinder wasn't entirely sure why he kept letting it happen. He liked to tell himself that it was all part of his plot to lull Sylar into a false sense of security, but he knew that was a cop-out.

Part of it could be chalked up to boredom; aside from gardening, there wasn't exactly a lot to do in their little town, and now that he was getting stronger, the monotony was beginning to wear on him more heavily. He itched to do something, anything – this waiting, whether for a window of opportunity to escape or for Sylar to start implementing his plans for world domination, was driving him mad.

Another part of it was that ironically, the only time he didn't think about how fucked up it was to be having sex with Sylar was… when he was having sex with Sylar. The overwhelming physicality of sex was the only thing that could drown out his thoughts for a little (or more often, a very long) while.

And Sylar was _incredibly_ good in bed. Having sex with someone who could anticipate what he wanted before he even knew himself was an amazing experience, to say the least. Sylar was always on top, which was fine with Mohinder, since actually penetrating Sylar himself involved a level of complicity on his part that he wasn't prepared to deal with.

He wasn't prepared to deal with a lot of things. The sex almost felt like the least of it. He knew he needed to buy some time – time to heal, time to think, and that meant keeping Sylar off-guard. It also meant becoming the person Sylar wanted him to be – at least on the surface. So he took his real self – the screaming part of him that wanted _out_ \- and mentally shut it in a little box and shoved it in the back corner of his mind. He did not think about the past; he did not think about the future. He thought about the now and slipped into the role he needed to play.

And really, this particular Sylar seemed about as far removed from the homicidal maniac he used to be as Mohinder was removed from whom he had been before the virus had hit. It was like they were two different people, living in a bubble that could burst any minute, but for now was floating dreamily through a plague-scarred world.

And if he was completely honest with himself, living with Sylar really was not that bad. Not that it was all easy sailing. Sylar had it in his head that they ought to be doing more things together, so one day, he came back from one of his little expeditions with a bag full of playing cards and board games. That ended badly. Neither one of them was able to concede defeat. The arguments got so bad that one day, during a game of Monopoly, Sylar accidentally set fire to the board when Mohinder refused to award him $200 for landing directly on "Go" (which was _not_ in the rules, and Mohinder didn't care if that was the way they played it in the Gray household, which was very obviously dysfunctional anyway). They put the board games away after that.

Mohinder also was finding it increasingly difficult to hold his tongue when Sylar started to share his vision of the community he was going to create, which as far as Mohinder could tell was a bizarre mixture of totalitarianism and utilitarianism.

"You see, Mohinder," he said one night. "People don't really want freedom. The struggle for freedom from so-called 'oppression' in the western world was horribly misguided. The high divorce rate, the misery with work, the rising debt and cynicism of the average person was a result of freedom of choice. And people are selfish – the greatest amount of happiness for the greatest amount of people can't be left up to individuals living selfish lives. People need guidance, and I can provide it – Mohinder, are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Terrific."

"Why are you grinding your teeth like that?"

"Oh, am I? Hadn't noticed. I'm going to bed – I'm tired."

"You want company?"

"…sure, why not."

It went on like this. Mohinder knew that all he had to do was keep his mouth shut and smile, but he'd never been very good at keeping his thoughts to himself, and he knew that one of these days, he was bound to snap and tell Sylar _exactly_ what he thought of his plan to help arrange marriages for his new citizens to maximize their potential for happiness, for example. He _was_ good at smiling, though. He knew he had a very nice smile, and it seemed to disarm Sylar, so he flashed it at him whenever he was being especially crazy or boring. Sylar tended to forget what he was going on about, and then that would lead to the bedroom. Or the kitchen. Or wherever they happened to be.

Mohinder knew that the whole situation was very fragile. They couldn't go on like this forever. But as much as he wanted to escape, there was a part of him that was reluctant to break this peace. He started to take walks on his own, wandering through the remnants of Piedmont, and he would stare at the empty buildings – the abandoned houses and the stores that would never open again. And he'd feel a pain in his heart at the thought of wandering alone in an entire world filled with towns just like this.

But as Sylar said, there were bound to be survivors out there, somewhere. Could Mohinder find them on his own? He wasn't sure. But what other choice did he have? He couldn't stay with Sylar forever.

Could he?


	3. Lies and Stormy Skies

Mohinder arched off the bed and screamed as he came.

He crashed back down to the bed and attempted to catch his breath while Sylar continued to fuck him. Sylar splayed his hands on Mohinder's thighs, holding him open as he thrust rapidly in and out, and a few minutes later, he moaned and came.

Mohinder lowered his feet to the mattress. They stayed there for a few moments, breathing heavily, and then Mohinder said, "The thing about your assertion that you're evolutionarily superior is that you fail to realize that part of the definition of evolutionary fitness is how successful an individual is at reproducing."

Sylar exhaled and rested his forehead on Mohinder's knee. "Mohinder, you know I love the sound of your voice, but could you wait for me to pull out before you start sharing your theories?"

"It's not a theory."

Sylar dismounted and landed beside Mohinder with a thud. Mohinder pulled the pillow that had been propping his hips up out from under him and then wiped his stomach off with a corner of the sheets. He stretched lazily as the afterglow of his orgasm settled pleasantly over him. Mohinder tended to babble after a really good orgasm – it was like the endorphins melted his mental filter. "I just think that you're operating under a false set of assumptions. I'll grant that your abilities give you an advantage as far as survival goes, but if your genes aren't being passed on to the next generation, then you aren't more 'highly evolved.'"

Sylar sighed and rubbed his face with both hands. "Is that a fact?" he mumbled through his fingers.

"Yes, it is." Mohinder made a face as he picked out a pubic hair from between his teeth. "You have enough books on evolution in your library to know that."

Sylar rolled on top of Mohinder and gave him a quick but deep kiss. He pulled back and looked down at Mohinder. "Maybe one of my powers is the ability to change a person's gender," he said. He moved down and planted a kiss on Mohinder's belly. Then he got up. "Well, I'm going to take a shower." He disappeared into the bathroom.

Mohinder stared dumbly after him as the blood drained from his face. "_WHAT?!_" When Sylar didn't answer, Mohinder scrambled out of the bed and followed him into the bathroom.

"You're joking, right?" Mohinder said to him through the shower curtain. When he still didn't answer, he drew back the curtain. "_Right?_"

"Close the curtain, Mohinder – you're getting water all over the floor."

"I mean, I know there are certain species of frogs that can change their sex, but surely mammals are too complex for such a change to be feasible, and it certainly shouldn't be possible to evoke that change in another organism – "

Sylar telekinetically pulled Mohinder into the tub and closed the curtain. He was laughing. "You're so gullible sometimes, doctor."

Mohinder punched his arm. "You _bastard_," he said with feeling. Sylar laughed again and sprayed Mohinder with the shower attachment.

Mohinder snatched it away. "Give me that," he snapped. "And pass the soap."

Mohinder soaped himself up and passed the attachment back to Sylar. Sylar rinsed himself off quickly and then turned his attentions to Mohinder. He used his telekinesis to hold the attachment over them while he massaged Mohinder's shoulders. His hands radiated a gentle heat.

Sylar leaned in and nuzzled Mohinder's neck. "And you should know better – I'd never change a thing about you. I love you just the way you are." He kissed Mohinder's shoulder.

Mohinder went very still. Despite the heat of Sylar's hands, he felt very cold all of a sudden. He finished rinsing off and stepped out of the tub.

"What's wrong?" Sylar asked.

"I'm hungry," Mohinder said, knowing that Sylar wouldn't object to that.

He wasn't, though. His stomach felt like he'd swallowed a lump of lead. He got dressed quickly and went down the stairs and out the front door.

It was still morning, but the air was already hot and heavy. Summer was nearly here, and it brought with it weather that reminded him more of home. He started to walk. He didn't know where he was going – just that he needed to get _away._

Mohinder had known, of course, that Sylar fancied himself in love with him, but it was one thing to know it and another to hear it. And he'd encouraged it. He was _using_ it, and the thought made him feel sick and sad and guilty.

Which was ridiculous. The man was a killer, and he had a plan to subjugate what was left of the world to his insane whims. Mohinder was justified using any means at his disposal that would give him an edge in the situation.

_But he does care for you,_ a part of him whispered.

_Oh yes, he cares for me,_ he thought bitterly. _He feeds me, waters me, and even walks me, like some sort of pet._

He veered off of the road and headed into the forest. The varied colors of spring had been replaced by a more uniform lush green. The trees were so thick with leaves that Mohinder almost felt he could disappear into them completely.

He walked on for what seemed like a long time. He brought his hand up to check his watch, but realized that he'd left it behind. Being without it made him feel uneasy. He was starting to get tired – vigorous morning sex plus a flight into the woods had taxed his system. He reluctantly conceded that he probably needed to turn back. He knew that he couldn't run forever.

But when he turned around, he discovered that he wasn't sure which way he should go. He was lost – great. He wasn't overly worried about it, because he knew Sylar would come after him eventually. Actually, he was surprised he hadn't already, although Sylar had become rather adept at reading Mohinder's mood and realized that Mohinder was usually easier to deal with if Sylar allowed him some space.

He walked a little further in the direction he thought would lead back to the house, but then he came upon an old pick-up truck. It surprised him. Sylar had gotten rid of all of the vehicles in the town except the hummer, presumably to remove the temptation for Mohinder to attempt to get away in one, but apparently he missed this one. Unsurprisingly, since in the middle of a forest wasn't a place one expected to find a truck.

He examined it. It certainly had seen better days – it was a bit rusted, but he thought it probably would run, if it was fueled and he could find the keys. He searched the interior, but unfortunately couldn't find any. He sighed in frustration. It was a long shot anyway – there probably wasn't a vehicle on earth that could get him away from Sylar.

But if this truck was here, maybe the place where its previous owner had lived was somewhere near. The keys might be there, since the owner either used a different vehicle to escape the town or had died before he could leave.

Mohinder walked in the opposite direction from where the truck was facing, hoping that it would lead back to a residence. And sure enough, after he walked for about fifteen minutes, he came upon a small cabin. "Rustic" didn't even begin to describe it; it looked like something out of another century. He climbed the old, rickety porch and walked up to the door. He tried the handle – it was unlocked.

The interior was slightly less shabby than the exterior, although that wasn't saying much. There were essentially only two rooms, although the front room held both a sitting area and a kitchen, and the back room was a bedroom with a very small bathroom off in a corner.

Thankfully, there were no decaying bodies lying about. And even more thankfully, there was a set of keys hanging on a nail by the front door. Mohinder snapped them up triumphantly and put them in his pocket.

He sat down on the worn olive green sofa and allowed himself to rest for a moment. He wasn't sure if anything would come of this, but finding the truck rekindled a spark of hope in him. And this morning had convinced him that their current situation couldn't go on forever. He couldn't keep living a lie. He needed a plan.

He must have been more tired than he realized, because the next thing he knew, he was laid out on the sofa, being kissed awake.

"Hey," Sylar said.

"Er. Hi." Mohinder sat up. "What time is it?"

"Five thirty-three and seventeen seconds," he said. "I came looking for you, but when I found you sleeping here, you looked so peaceful that I didn't want to disturb you." Sylar's tone was mildly accusatory. "You lied to me. I bet you haven't eaten a thing all day."

Mohinder almost laughed. "Ah, no, I haven't. I went out to get some fresh air, and then I got lost, and I was tired so when I saw this cabin, I came in to rest for a minute. Guess I drifted off."

"You could have called me," Sylar said.

Mohinder stared at him. "What – with a phone?"

"No – you'd just have to say my name. I would hear you." He tapped his ear. "Super-hearing, remember?"

"Oh," he said. That was rather unsettling. "So how did you find me?"

"I can smell you, too."

Oh, _ew._ "So you tracked me like a bloodhound."

"Yes."

"I see." Mohinder rubbed his face, trying to banish the fog of sleep that was still lingering over him. Sylar's reminders of how powerful he was irritated him. No, it more than irritated him – it made him _angry_. He thought about the keys in his pocket, which just a few hours ago had given him the tiniest bit of hope. Now that had been dashed – if Sylar's hearing was so powerful that he could hear Mohinder's voice from so far away, and he had the tracking abilities of a dog, it wouldn't make any difference if he drove away or went on foot – it would have the same outcome: Sylar would drag him back and they'd continue to play house, for the rest of his life, as far as he knew.

Sylar sat down on the couch beside Mohinder and put a hand on his back. "Is there something wrong?"

_Oh, of course not – nearly everyone on Earth is dead, I'm so weak that I can't walk a mile without needing to lie down, and I'm fucking the man who killed my father and enjoying it. What could possibly be wrong with any of that?_

Mohinder stood up and walked across the room. "If I wanted to leave, what would you do?" he asked suddenly.

Sylar blinked. "What?"

"If I found a car and packed up a knapsack and headed out of town, what would you do?"

"Why would you want to?" He sounded honestly baffled.

 

"That isn't an answer," Mohinder said. "I repeat: what would you do?"

Sylar stuttered a bit in the way of someone who hasn't quite caught up with the conversation. "Is – is there somewhere you want to go?"

"No, there isn't anywhere I want to go," Mohinder said viciously. "I just want to know exactly how you would prevent me from leaving."

Sylar appeared to have finally realized that this was an argument. "What the hell has gotten into you?" he said. "Why would you ask me that?"

"Would you lock me in my room?" Mohinder's tone was growing increasingly nasty with every word. "Break my legs? Drug me into a stupor?"

Sylar began to get visibly upset. "Why are you doing this? Things were going so well…"

"No, _you_ thought things were going well," Mohinder said. "You have been so fucking pleased with yourself and this whole little demonic garden of Eden you've set up, and meanwhile I've been suffocating to death in that stupid little house, waiting for the other shoe to drop when you finally realize that _I don't want this._"

There was a loud clatter as the shutters of the window were caught in a violent gust of wind. The room grew greyer as the sunlight diminished under clouds. The hairs on Mohinder's arms were standing on end, and there was a faint smell of ozone in the air.

Sylar's eyes had gone very dark. He took a step towards Mohinder, who cringed in spite of himself. "What do you mean by that?" Sylar asked. His voice had become dangerously even.

Mohinder swallowed. Every instinct he had was shrieking at him to back down before things got really ugly, but it felt perversely good to be fighting Sylar after weeks of charade. "I never asked for any of this!"

"Oh, so you'd rather be back at the base?" Sylar took another step closer to him. "Is that the way you prefer to be treated? Do you want me to strap you to a bed? You would love that, wouldn't you – so you could ease your conscience and pretend that you don't want this as much as I do."

Mohinder felt a stab of fear so intense that it almost took his breath away. He flashed back to his time at the base: _hands all over him, restraints strapped around his wrists and ankles, a needle in his arm as he thrashed and screamed, but there were too many of them, they were so strong…_ He was shaking, and he knew he ought to put a stop to this, to smile and apologize, but the fact that Sylar had scared him so badly made him furious. "That's about what it comes down to anyway," he shot back. "You're just as bad as they were – worse, in fact, because at least they didn't expect me to be grateful for what they were doing to me!"

There was a flash of lightning, followed by a rumble of thunder. "You _should_ be grateful!" Sylar shouted. "I've given you everything that the world has left to offer – your life is a fucking paradise compared to what's going on in the rest of the world!" He took another slow, deliberate step towards him.

Mohinder was cornered; if he made a break for it, Sylar would certainly catch him, and yet he couldn't just stand here, waiting for Sylar to reach him. He began to inch along the wall, slowly working his way to the front of the cabin. "_Stay away from me!_"

At that, Sylar stopped moving towards him. "You're afraid of me," he said. "After everything I've done for you – all the months of taking care of you – and you're still afraid."

"Of _course_ I'm still afraid!" Mohinder backed up further – the door was a few feet away. "You're a killer!"

"I did what I had to do, Mohinder – maybe it wasn't pretty, but it was necessary. But that doesn't mean I'd ever hurt you! Why can't you understand that?"

"'Necessary?' _Necessary?_ Is that what you think? That people _had_ to die just so you could fulfill your psychotic need for total control? Well, guess what, Sylar? Even if you are the most powerful person on the planet, even if you have the entire world at your feet, you will never have total control, because you can never control me. I'll never love you. It makes me sick just to look at you."

Sylar was so shocked that he actually stumbled back a step. "What?"

"Did you really think any of this was _real?_" Mohinder laughed. "Oh dear. How very sad."

Sylar let out a half-choked laugh. "Oh right, Mohinder, I'm sure," he said mockingly. "So when you beg me to fuck you – when you come screaming in my hand, in my mouth – that's all fake? You're not that good of a liar."

"It's just sex. Just because I let you fuck me doesn't mean you mean a goddamn thing to me other than a temporary relief of boredom and a way to get you to shut up about your psychotic plots of world domination. Oh, I'm sorry, did that hurt your feelings?" Mohinder said at Sylar's stunned look. "Did you think that we were 'making love?' That our hearts were beating as one?" He laughed again.

"Shut up," Sylar said. His eyes had gone completely black; the storm outside intensified.

This ought to be scaring him, and it was, but it felt so _good_ to push his buttons. "You're pathetic – for all your power, you're just a naïve, gullible little boy who doesn't have a clue what real love looks like. Not that it would matter – you can play at being in love, but the best you'll ever get is a shallow approximation because you are a _monster,_ and I hate this, and I hate you!"

"I said **_shut up_**!" Suddenly, a lightening bolt crashed through the ceiling and struck the floor between the two of them, knocking them both off their feet and sending them flying in opposite directions. Mohinder hit the door of the cabin and crumpled to the floor.

The cabin caught on fire. Mohinder tried to push himself up off the floor, but couldn't manage it. He started to cough as the cabin began to fill with smoke.

Suddenly, Sylar was beside him; he scooped him off the floor and ran out of the cabin. When they were about twenty feet away, Sylar gently lowered him onto a patch of grass. "Stay here," he said. "Don't move."

Mohinder sat up and coughed, trying to regain his breath. He saw Sylar putting out the fire with blasts of cool air from his hands, which also turned the rain around him into snow. It swirled around the cabin with the smoke in an oddly beautiful way.

When the fire had been extinguished, Sylar made his way back over to Mohinder. He held up one hand above his head, and suddenly, the rain stopped – but only around them, as if they were being shielded by an invisible umbrella.

He knelt beside Mohinder. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"'m fine," he said through coughs, although he was pretty sure he wasn't fine at all. His heart was beating so hard that his whole body pulsed with it, and the left side of his face stung.

Sylar touched a hand to Mohinder's cheek. "Oh," he said. "You're burned…" Mohinder winced and turned away from his touch. Sylar dropped his hand, then sat down beside him.

They sat there in silence for what seemed like a very long time. It was as if the anger of their argument had been blasted away by the lightning bolt, and now they both were in shock. Mohinder stared up at the storm that was blowing all around them. "Are you controlling this?" he asked finally.

Sylar looked up at the sky. "Well, I was," he said. "I can't stop it now."

"Are we going to wait it out?" he asked.

Sylar continued staring at the sky for a moment. "No," he said finally. He stood up, then offered a hand to Mohinder. "Come on – let's go home."

It was strange walking through the rain and not getting wet. The rain stopped several feet above them and then rolled down around them, as if they were in a glass bubble. Mohinder didn't want to look directly at Sylar, but he tried to catch glimpses of his face out of the corner of his eye. His expression was inscrutable. What would happen when they got back to the house? Would Sylar lock him up after all? He could, if he wanted to. And there wasn't anything Mohinder could do about it, he realized. A feeling of dull terror began to churn in the pit of his stomach. He thought of the isolation of the hospital room, the horror and the madness of it. If Sylar locked him away, Mohinder would break apart into so many pieces that he'd never be whole again.

They finally reached the house, but right before they began up the porch steps, Mohinder faltered.

Sylar turned around and looked at him. "What's wrong?"

Mohinder backed up a few steps. "Don't," he said. He was shaking with panic. "Don't lock me up, I – I can't – " And then his legs buckled and he fell to the ground.

Sylar was beside him in an instant. "_Mohinder,_" he said, as if his heart would break. "Oh no, Mohinder, I wouldn't – please don't be afraid. _Please._"

And then he was kissing him, and for reasons beyond him, Mohinder kissed him back. Sylar lost control of the telekinetic shield, and the rain crashed down on them, hard and fast and soaking them to the bone.

They stumbled up the porch steps and through the front door, still kissing each other desperately. Once they were inside, Sylar half-dragged, half-carried Mohinder up the stairs to the bedroom. They fell on the bed and clung to one another as they continued to kiss. The comforter scratched the small burn on Mohinder's cheek, but he didn't care. Sylar rolled on top of Mohinder, pressing down against him. He seemed so heavy, but Mohinder welcomed it – sometimes he felt that there was nothing to him, that he weighed so little he would blow away, and Sylar's body on top of his made him feel like he had substance.

Sylar inserted his thigh between Mohinder's legs; Mohinder moaned and rubbed himself against it. Sylar returned the moan and buried his head in the crook of Mohinder's neck. Mohinder put his hands under Sylar's wet shirt and clawed at his back, feeling the skin break and then heal again; Sylar gasped at the pain, but then moaned more loudly than before.

Mohinder threw his head back and started to thrust more quickly. Sylar removed his thigh and sat up, making Mohinder keen with loss. Sylar pulled off his wet tee shirt and then bent down to kiss Mohinder again, as if even a few seconds apart from him was too much to bear.

After a few more kisses, Sylar reluctantly rolled off Mohinder and sat up again. He kicked off his shoes, then undid his fly and wiggled out of his jeans and underwear. Mohinder took off his shirt as well, but when he went to unzip his fly, Sylar stopped him. He moved off the bed and pulled Mohinder with him until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Sylar then knelt in front of Mohinder and slowly undid the laces on his shoes, gently slipping them off along with his socks. He gave each bare foot a kiss, then moved up and unbuttoned Mohinder's fly. Mohinder tilted his hips so Sylar could pull his trousers and underwear off. Once he was naked, Sylar bent his head down and took Mohinder's cock into his mouth.

Mohinder let out a strangled scream and his hips bucked up involuntarily. Sylar didn't pull back – he took Mohinder's cock even deeper. He wrapped a fist around the base and began to pump it as he moved his head up and down. He kept sucking him, faster and faster, until Mohinder finally reached down and pulled Sylar up. He didn't want to come like this – he needed Sylar up on the bed beside him. He had been frightened – very badly frightened, and Sylar was the man who caused it.

But he was also the only person Mohinder had left.

Sylar slithered up beside him and took Mohinder in his arms again. They lay back down, moving against each other frantically until Sylar put a hand on Mohinder's hip and slowed his movements. Mohinder groaned in frustration.

"Slowly," Sylar whispered. He made a motion with his hand; Mohinder heard the drawer of the nightstand open and shut. A tube of lubricant floated into Sylar's hand. He flipped open the top and poured a generous amount into his hand, then reached down between them and took a hold of both their cocks.

Mohinder gasped and thrust his hips forward, but Sylar refused to move them any faster. The slow slide was driving Mohinder crazy – soon he was a panting, writhing mess.

Sylar released them and poured more lube on his fingers. He pushed on Mohinder's thighs until his legs were spread as wide as they could go. Mohinder didn't need much preparation since they had fucked that morning, but Sylar was determined to take it slow. He drew out every sensation, moving his fingers in and out of him until Mohinder thought he would scream.

Finally, he removed his fingers and slicked himself further. Sylar pushed the head of his cock against Mohinder and slid into him with one long thrust.

Mohinder did scream then. Sylar let out an answering moan and pulled out slowly, then pushed back in. Mohinder rolled his hips up to meet him. They soon set a slow but steady pace. Mohinder's head thrashed back and forth; his breath was coming so fast that he thought he might hyperventilate. He took in a few deep, although shaky, breaths.   
Sylar began to thrust faster. Mohinder was quickly approaching orgasm; he closed his eyes and gave himself up to the sensations. But then Sylar leaned down and put his elbows on either side of Mohinder's head and kissed him.

"Tell me you're lying," Sylar said. Mohinder's eyes shot open.

"Wha – " But Mohinder was cut off by another furious kiss.

"Tell me you're lying right now, and I'll believe you," he said, panting as he continued to thrust into him.

Mohinder put a hand on the back of Sylar's neck and brought him back down into a kiss, willing him to understand that he couldn't talk, not now, but Sylar would not let up.

"Tell me this doesn't mean anything to you, and I'll believe you," Sylar said, covering his face with short, frenzied kisses. "Please, _please_ – I have to know. Tell me you're lying!" His thrusts became even faster.

"I – I – _I can't!_" Mohinder screamed, and suddenly he was coming so hard his whole body twisted with it.

A strange look of triumph passed over Sylar's face. He kissed Mohinder's slack mouth, then pushed himself back up and began to thrust harder and faster. After a few minutes, he bucked his hips one last time and then came with a loud, long sigh.

He withdrew from Mohinder and collapsed beside him. Mohinder couldn't even move for several minutes as waves of the aftershock of his orgasm rolled through him. He was exhausted. In spite of everything, he actually started to drift off, but then Sylar rolled over and put an arm around him, and suddenly it was too much. He got out of bed and began to make his retreat, but Sylar grabbed his wrist and pulled him back.

"Let me go," Mohinder said feebly. He tried to twist away, but Sylar pulled him in even closer until Mohinder was in his arms.

"No!" Mohinder cried, and to his horror a shuddering sob escaped his mouth. This man killed his father – he killed so many others. He _hated_ this man. Didn't he?

"It's okay," Sylar said, smoothing a hand over his hair.

"I can't do this," Mohinder said hopelessly, although he wasn't sure what exactly it was that he couldn't do. "_I can't._"

Sylar kissed the top of his head. "Shhh. It's all right now."

Mohinder sobbed again. Everything he'd been telling himself for the past few weeks suddenly seemed called into question. There was still dishonesty in this, but what was the lie? Mohinder couldn't tell anymore.

They lay there together until Mohinder's sobs quieted. Sylar carefully pulled back. "Hey," he said. "Why don't we go downstairs and get something to eat?" Sylar got out of the bed and looked at Mohinder again. "Never mind. I'll go get something and bring it up here. Okay?"

Mohinder nodded dully. He didn't really care.

Sylar took Mohinder's hands in his own and looked deeply into his eyes. "Mohinder, I –"

_If he says he loves me,_ Mohinder thought. _I'll go mad._

Sylar paused, and then he said, "I'll be right back." He opened a drawer of the bureau and pulled out a pair of sweat pants. He put them on and then disappeared out the door.

Mohinder considered going to the bathroom to wash himself off, but he didn't feel like moving. He thought back to the chronograph that Sylar had told him about months ago. Was this what it felt like to be taken apart – his mind uncoiled like a spring, guts like gears spread out on the sheets?

He breathed in and then out again. After a few minutes, he started to feel calmer. What did all of this mean? He reflected on what he was feeling with detachment. Was he in love? He thought it over. No, he decided. He wasn't.

But he didn't hate Sylar – not anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Sooo, this is going to be awkward, but I thought I'd add a note to let everyone know that I've branched out into original work under the pen name Sera Trevor. I have three original novels available for free! 
> 
> My first book, "Consorting with Dragons," is a fairy tale comedy about an impoverished young lord who ends up attracting the attention of both a powerful dragon and the king himself, much to the consternation of the royal court who are less than impressed with his uncouth manners. If you like my sense of humor, I think you'll really enjoy it! It's available in all formats at the Goodreads M/M Romance Group's site [here.](http://bit.ly/2noeIlF) (Scroll to the bottom for the links.)
> 
> My second book, "A Shadow on the Sun," is an epic fantasy about a prince forced into a political marriage and the loyal knight who is determined to save him. This book is heavy on the angst and political intrigue. You can find it on Amazon [here](http://amzn.to/2ntg1la), or at Smashwords [here.](http://bit.ly/2nod4k3)
> 
> My last book, "The Troll Whisperer," is a contemporary tale about an internet troll who inadvertently falls for one of his victims. It's a comedy with a lot of heart as the main character learns to change his trolly ways. You can find it on Amazon [here](http://amzn.to/2nYQPnv), or at Smashwords [here.](http://bit.ly/2o36ToF) The short story sequel, "The Pink Wedding," is available for $.99 [here](http://amzn.to/2orp2bP) and [here.](http://bit.ly/2na9lVo)
> 
> I also have a [website!](http://www.seratrevor.com) You can keep up with my releases by signing up for my newsletter [here.](http://www.seratrevor.com/newsletter.html)


End file.
